Afterwards
by Geale
Summary: For Sirius Black, existence after almost dying is not really living and in darkness there are only more shadows to be found. That is, until one day, when a visitor shows up. Sirius!lives fic. Charlie/Sirius SLASH


**Summary:** For Sirius Black, existence after almost dying is not really living and in darkness there are only more shadows to be found. That is, until one day, when a visitor shows up.

 **Pairing:** Charlie/Sirius

 **Rating:** T

 **Warnings:** Slash and a reasonable spoonful of angst.

 **Disclaimer:** Not mine

 **A/N:** As always, thanks for reading.

 **Afterwards**

The note had materialised on his bedside table overnight.

Which was unfortunate, Sirius thought to himself as he trudged down the stairs to the kitchen. The last step was uneven due to the heavy iron kettle that had landed on it a while back during one of Kreacher's tantrums. Sirius had meant to Mend it properly but had not got around to it just yet. Hopefully, Charlie Weasley would have no business in the kitchen.

"Kreacher?"

Throwing open the kitchen door, Sirius peered inside. The counters were wiped clean and there were fresh candles in the chandelier but no house-elf to speak of. Normally, that was a cause for relief but today was shaping up differently.

" _Kreacher?"_ He ran a hand over his stubbly chin. He probably ought to shave.

"All right." Positioning himself in the doorway, Sirius shook out the piece of parchment he had found waiting for him when he woke up and brushed his hair out of his eyes. He should probably get it cut.

"Listen," he said, keeping his voice raised, "Charlie Weasley will pop round later. I suppose he'll want… tea or… something to that effect." What Charlie Weasley wanted by way of refreshments, Sirius had absolutely no idea.

When nothing but the customary grunts of the old house greeted this announcement, he made a face. "I don't think you'll have to bother with supper. He's just stopping by to have a look at some books."

Why he was telling Kreacher this (if he indeed _was_ telling Kreacher this, seeing as the kitchen appeared to be empty) was a mystery to him but living alone did something to you. And Kreacher was, despite everything, another living, breathing soul in the house.

"OK?" Sirius asked the kitchen, sort of in general. "Around 3 pm."

And that was that.

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place lay swathed in shadows as the bleak January light failed to make much of an impression on it. It had been raining for a few days now, an icy, spiky rain that had successfully slaked Padfoot's desire for any late-night roaming around the neighbourhood. Instead, Sirius had retired to the old sofa in the drawing room each night and not done much more than watch how the flames in the fireplace tried to lick their way up the chimney.

Yesterday, he'd turned down Ron's over-lunch offer of a pint at the Hog's Head later, only to come back home and regret it. And even though he could have Flooed over to Harry's he remained there, on the sofa, mulling over his self-inflicted solitude and other depressing subjects. Now, as he stood on the threshold to the drawing room and ran the pad of his thumb over a deep dent in the doorframe that extended into an ugly tear in the wallpaper, he wondered again how the hell he'd become so pathetic and lonely. But the true answer – the one that lay beyond the convenient lies – was, as always, too uncomfortable to ponder in depth so he shoved it aside.

He gave a couple of cuhions a good shake and he folded up the blanket and draped it over the back of the saggy armchair Horace favoured. The professor would sink into it, stretch out his stocky legs and give a content grunt behind his moustache. But for all his lumbering and huffing and puffing, he always held Sirius' old sherry glasses so delicately at the stem, turning his drink this way and that, and making the amber liquid shine like molten… well, amber. Of course, with Horace still at Hogwarts, the armchair stood mostly empty.

For a while, in the beginning, Sirius had toyed with the idea of hosting some dinner, a spectacularly big one, for everyone – maybe at Christmas and asking them all to stay over – but he had not got around to that either. He'd fancied that if he could recreate a bit of that hustle and bustle from the days when the Order used the house as it headquarters, a little more light might make it through the thick glass in the windows. He still played around with that idea once in a while, wondering what it would be like to have the front door open and close irregularly, several pairs of feet thundering through the hallway and up and down the stairs, and other voices – _more_ voices – filling the rooms. And to top it off, without the threat of Voldemort hanging over their heads.

Maybe it could be fun. It just… had never happened.

When three o'clock came and went without even a whisper from the front door, Sirius began to regret having taken the time to wash and change into a pair of clean trousers and a fancy shirt. He'd hovered in the hallway for a bit, but was just about to give up and climb upstairs and change back into one of his old t-shirts when a sharp rap at the door made him start.

There really was no reason for why he should fish out his wand from his back pocket but he did so anyway. Old instincts perhaps. And speaking of old instincts, he stole a look in the hallway mirror, too. In the meagre light of the gas lamps, he was not very much a sight you'd linger on, he decided.

Another rap at the door and he shook himself. With a deep breath, he resolutely got over himself and turned the knob.

Outside, the rain was falling from a steely grey sky and slicking the stone steps. A figure in such a ridiculously yellow Muggle jacket was standing before him, holding up his wand to create a shielding spell over himself.

Charlie Weasley looked healthy as a horse and he made a brutal splash of colour against the greyish-brown backdrop that was Grimmauld Place and, well, the entire sky. All in all, he looked as though randomly standing around on a doorstep on a sodden day was what he did best.

"Sirius Black?" His eyes were so blue it was stupid.

"Um, yeah." Icy raindrops fell on Sirius' hand and sleeve and he shuddered. "Uh, come in."

"Thanks." Charlie's grin was lopsided, but full of confidence.

Sirius backed into the hallway, back into the dull light of the gas lamps and watched as Charlie closed the door behind him, effectively shutting out the modest daylight.

"Tempestuous weather, eh?" He wrung off his yellow jacket and with a swipe of his wand dried it. "Quite like it, though. Makes you feel alive."

"Right." Sirius returned his wand to his back pocket. "Haven't been out today."

"Well, I s'pose it's much the same as yesterday." Charlie glanced around and caught sight of the hanger. Without asking, he marched right up to it and hung his jacket on one of the pegs where it looked odd against Sirius' dark cloak. "I'm not much of a robes-and-cloaks bloke," he admitted, offhandedly. He pointed at his jacket. "This is Muggle-made," he said, quite unnecessary. "It's like they've coated the fabric with something that keeps the rain from permeating it. Quite clever. I was thinking I should get dad one, too."

Tying his very best to adjust to all this new energy, Sirius could only produce a weak smile. "I'm sure he'd like that."

"Yeah, well… Mum wouldn't, I suspect. Have you seen all his stuff? I mean, I know he collects it and it's his hobby and whatnot but when I saw it this time around…" Charlie clicked his tongue. "He'll soon need a second garden shed. And a third, I reckon."

"Right." Sirius licked his lips. "When, um, did you get back?"

Charlie chose that moment to drag his fingers through his damp hair. It was longish, sort of like Sirius' own, but it did not hang into his face.

A faint flicker spluttered to life deep in Sirius' belly. It went out almost immediately but it was the most he had felt for ages. Swallowing, he forced himself to pay attention to what the other man was saying.

"…and that took a couple of days, you know. So I didn't _actually_ get back until last Saturday. But dragons are dragons. What can you do?"

"Well," Sirius found a pale smile for him. "Wouldn't know, really."

"Yeah, well…" Charlie absently scratched his jaw. It was square and… uncomfortably manly. "It's mostly instinct, anyway." But his grin, broad and proud, told a completely different story.

It was all Sirius could do to not stare at that grin – at that man, so full of life, that was standing here in his dank hallway in his dusty old house in a hidden fold of the world. "Do you… Do you want to come in?"

"Thanks." Again, casual. So bloody _relaxed_.

As Sirius conducted their way to the drawing room, he was very conscious of Charlie's presence behind him, the sound of his footsteps on the thick, musty carpet. It somehow made it hard to breathe and it was silly but this was almost worse than that day, more than a year after the War had ended, when Harry had persuaded Sirius to accompany him to the Ministry to meet with some officials that had set Sirius Black's records straight and offered their apologies to him on behalf of the entire wizarding kind or whatever shit they'd gone on about.

"How old is this place?"

Torn from his memories, Sirius turned a glance over his shoulder. Charlie had stopped on the stairs and was inspecting the shrunken house-elf heads on the wall.

"Couple of centuries," he shrugged. "I… I meant to take those down…"

"No, they're… charming. Absolutely charming." Even here, among the shadows, his blue eyes twinkled.

It caught Sirius' breathing off guard and something in his belly turned over. A heavy, sinking feeling followed. Forcing air back into his lungs he managed a smile. "I guess I've gone a bit blind to it… all."

"Well…" One more of those seemingly innumerable grins. "You've definitely got a style going."

Swallowing down the first, bitter response that came to him, Sirius only made a face. "I guess."

They made it to the drawing room safely. Or, that was, with Sirius' breathing and heartbeat intact. With a couple of flicks of his wand he lit some lamps and set the fire going.

"Ah." Charlie appraised the room. "That's better." He gave a small self-conscious shrug. "I'm not much of an indoor person either, but when I _am_ indoors I like it bright and warm."

He looked like one who would, too, Sirius decided as the firelight cast a warm glow into the room. Charlie was a few inches shorter than Sirius but broad across the shoulders and with a slim waist. He wore jeans that had seen better days but a neat, green woollen jumper and possibly a white long-sleeved t-shirt underneath. Now that his hair was drying, it did so in soft, copper waves, the ends curling in his neck. And when the light touched him properly, Sirius saw his sharp jawline and the hint of a muscled chest underneath that jumper.

A tendril of heat slithered down his spine. Probably, if he counted back, he might successfully be able to figure out when he last had been with somebody but he preferred not to. That way he could pretend he still carried on something of a normal life.

"Mate, you OK? You look a bit…" Charlie was frowning at him.

"No, I…" Sirius licked his lips, trying to rearrange his thoughts in a manageable order. "I just…" He half turned away, not at all meaning to say anything of importance but to his surprise heard the words tumble out of him nonetheless.

"I don't go out very much," he began, sensing the play of the shadows in the corners of the room. "See, I… a few years back… I sort of died."

The silence he had learnt to expect was waiting within reach. Because what else did you do than shut up when somebody told you they were all but deceased?

"Right…" Charlie, though, was taking a step closer. "Yeah… I know."

"That kind of changed things… for me."

"I s'pose they would."

"Yeah…"

"So… how d'you change?"

Sirius looked up. The other man looked so out of place it was incredible. "Um… I…" He searched for words. "I've turned into a bit of a recluse, I suppose."

There really was no way of describing it. How the cold, endless void behind the Veil had eaten at him, filled him, haunted him from within and without. How he had been infused with a dense darkness that dulled his senses and made it feel like he was wading through thick, black oil even though he was not moving at all. The way he'd finally emptied his mind and heart into that soulless, bottomless pit of nothingness and lost all hope of ever again seeing anything at all.

A flash of light on the edge of his vision broke through the darkness and Charlie was right there beside him. "I'm sorry," he said, absurdly.

Sirius stared into his face. He had just the faintest hint of lines around his eyes and his skin was gently bronzed by sunlight. He had a spatter of freckles across the bridge of his straight nose.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"I got out." He shrugged.

"Still though."

Maybe he should say something more but in this moment he could think of absolutely nothing at all. The way Charlie was looking at him, something in the way he was leaning in – not much, but even so – made Sirius' throat oddly tight.

In the end, it was Charlie who broke the spell. "Well, I'm happy you got out. And I know loads of other people are, too. Harry, for one."

Sirius produced a new smile. This time it was easier. "I'm pretty sure Harry has saved my life."

"Yeah?" Charlie took a few steps back. He raised an eyebrow. "Because when I asked him about you he said he's trying hard to get you out of this house but that he isn't being very successful."

A most uncommon sensation of heat flashed in Sirius' cheeks, accompanied by a vicious twinge in his belly. "Yeah, I know…"

But Charlie only held up two ridiculously big hands. "Not here to scold you."

By _sodding Godric bloody Gryffindor_ … Who even had hands like that?

The other man, however, was still talking. "…get a bit carried away." He flashed a grin that perhaps could have passed for sheepish if he had put some effort into it. "I hear that a lot, truth be told."

"Um, I'm sorry?" Sirius could have kicked himself. He dragged his eyes from Charlie's grin to his eyes. Which really did not help since the blue in them was almost electric.

"That I should just shut up," said Charlie, seemingly with no remorse whatsoever.

"Oh."

"Yeah…" He chewed on his lip, his gaze darting sideways for a moment. Then he shrugged, maybe casting off all his troubles. If he had any. "Oh, well. I'm still young. Still got time to learn." He winked.

Sirius felt old as mouldy parchment. He could not even think of a reply.

Charlie took pity on him, however. "So, I'm sorry for barging in… It's just that when Harry mentioned that you still live here, I thought you'd might be able to help."

He had to get a grip on himself, Sirius knew, or he could just as well never speak to anyone ever again. It was certainly not the first time he had been attracted to another person, he had to remind himself, even if those times past felt like a lifetime ago. (And in a way, he supposed, they were, too.) He'd even had a love life at some point, he knew, but distantly, as if the body he had inhabited then was a different one from the one he was in now.

"Sure," he forced out. "I'm happy to help."

"Brilliant."

The load of books in the bookcases was humble but what the Black family library lacked in numbers it made up for in content. Sirius lead Charlie to them, inwardly cringing. There was some kind of magic seeping from those books, that lay draped around them. It was a magic that always managed to work its way under his skin and chill him. It played on his senses, too, and whispered in his ear, calling forth dark memories that liked to twine around his heart.

Too late he realised that he should have kept Charlie away from them or at least warned him. It did not seem fair that such a brightly shining person should have his light dulled by Sirius' belongings. But if he had expected a reaction from Charlie other than plain old curiosity, he was disappointed.

"Bloody hell," Charlie leaned in to peer at the books. "Looks sinister enough."

"Listen," Sirius began, "I don't know if it's safe…"

Charlie shot him a puzzled look. "They're only books, mate."

"Yeah but…"

But how to explain that to Sirius it was like the whole house was somehow caving in? Like the darkness imbued in the walls was creeping in on him? Like the walls were closing in on him and that the shadows that coiled in the corners were driving the air out of his lungs, replacing it with despair?

So he said nothing, only watched as Charlie inspected the backs and nodded to himself.

"This might do," he mumbled after a while. He had worked his way down the row of books and was now tapping one of them with a long forefinger. "If it's OK with you," he looked up at Sirius, "I'd like to borrow this one and have it sent down to Romania?"

"Romania?" He croaked out, pathetically.

"Yeah," Charlie scratched his chin. "The research team at the reserve should have a look at it, I think."

Sirius nodded, numbly. He found his voice somewhere in the gloom and gave a small nod at the book. "Which one?"

"The one on crossbreeding," said Charlie, and for the first time since he had appeared on the doorstep to number twelve there was no trace of humour in his voice. In fact, some hardness had collected in his jaw and his voice fell flat between them. "You don't want to know what some people are capable of."

No, Sirius really did not. Instead, he fished out his wand from the back pocket of his trousers and pointed it at the sofa. " _Accio_ cushion."

With Charlie's blue gaze firm on him Sirius fumbled with the pillowcase but soon enough managed to drag it off. He held it out for the other man. "Here, put it in here. I don't want you touching it again."

"I'll have to, though." The glimmer was back in the blue. "To cover it up. You know?"

Sirius knew that. Or maybe he did not because Charlie was a wizard and could have made use of his wand, but those eyes were so bright on him now that he barely kept a hold on his own reasoning.

"Just… keep it… I don't know what these books…" He trailed off as a warm smile spread across Charlie's face.

To Sirius' great relief, the younger man did not question him but only obligingly took the proffered pillowcase and dropped the book into it. "Got it. Look, we're both safe."

They were, Sirius had to assume, as they crossed the room to stand by the sofa. Or, at least Charlie was and that was most important.

"So, um," he dragged a hand through his hair. "Do you want tea or something?"

The sudden realisation was like a wave of ice cold water hitting him: Charlie was done now, was he not? He had got what he was looking for and probably needed to be somewhere else. Probably _wanted_ to be somewhere else.

"Yeah, thanks."

"Right."

Great. Sirius licked his lips. He had not seen Kreacher since the evening before but Sirius was still his master and was well within his rights to ask for tea. If they had any tea.

When was the last time he'd had tea? Good and proper, that was.

"Hold on, will you?"

His feet took him out of the drawing room and onto the first floor landing. Out of sight. Here he found he could breathe with more ease and he leaned back against the wall. For a moment, just long enough to be able to collect his thoughts. He let out a long breath. Focused.

"Kreacher!"

He heard the _crack!_ but never saw the house-elf. Something might have moved in the shadows above him but he could not be certain.

"Tea, please," he said, his voice almost drowning in the gloom. "For myself and Mr Weasley."

Then he had to make it back to Charlie. He barely felt the floor under his feet as he pulled himself together and re-entered the drawing room.

Charlie's gaze was on him immediately, so piercing it drove Sirius' heart almost to a standstill. No doubt Sirius was a fool but the way those blue eyes held him made him remember. They were only scraps and shards, bits and pieces, of memories but they surfaced all the same. Once upon a time, he had been given an almost identical look and…

He swallowed.

Charlie had settled in the sofa as if he owned it. He was smiling.

Sirius was cold. His hands were ice as he forced his legs to carry him closer. He might never have sat down if Charlie had not patted the threadbare cushion beside him.

"So…" said Charlie, when they were both seated.

"When are you going back?" Sirius heard himself blurting, apparently not caring for whatever the other man had wanted to say.

"What?"

"To Romania?" Sirius, for some inconceivable reason, gestured at the grimy window. As if Romania was just outside, bordering on Grimmauld Place.

To his surprise, a slow grin crept over Charlie's face. "I'm not."

"You're not?"

Charlie sat back a little and shook his head. "No. I've actually moved back permanently. Got an interesting job offer, you see."

"Oh?"

"Yep…" He grinned. "Guess where?"

"I have no idea." Because he did not and, besides, sitting so close to Charlie made it difficult to think, least of all coming up with any qualified guesses.

"Hogwarts. Would you believe it?"

Sirius could drown in that perpetual sparkle in his eyes. "I can."

"Mum couldn't," he laughed. "And Ron didn't believe me until I showed him McGonagall's letter. Apparently, they need someone to help with game keeping since Hagrid spends so much of his time in France these days…" He waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially. "Also, I reckon they have some plans for the Forbidden Forest."

"Really?" Sirius fought to stay on track. "What plans?"

"Dunno. I s'pose I'll find out eventually."

"Well, congratulations, then."

He did not sound very genuine to his own ears even though he truly had meant it that way. It was just that the other man was leaning forwards now, with another one of those slow smiles curving his lips.

And Charlie's voice, when he spoke, had dropped a notch. "Yeah, so… I'll be around."

"Great."

Sirius was not sure he was breathing. It seemed impossible to drag his gaze away from that smile, from the freckles splashed over Charlie's nose and all that deep blue that was directed only at him.

"Listen…"

Everything went very still.

Then one large hand landed gingerly on Sirius' knee. Charlie licked his lips. "If you're not…"

Warmth radiated off him, raced from his palm to shoot sparks of heat all the way into Sirius' foot.

"I am."

He grinned.

"Brilliant."

The kiss was slow. Charlie's soft lips barely touched Sirius' at first, just slid gently across them. He did not open his mouth on Sirius', did not nibble or work his tongue in any way. For the longest time, he just stayed put like that, lips touching lips. Simply and carefully.

Sirius, for his part, even if his eyes had been open, would not have seen a single thing, he thought dizzily. His body was too occupied by holding it together. By making sure he did not die all over again.

By the time Charlie finally parted his lips a fraction and increased the pressure slightly, Sirius had all but forgotten his own name. Charlie's tongue tip dipped into his bottom lip and teased it just a little, causing Sirius' cold blood to stir. He felt it rise, felt something uncurl in his very bones. It was equally agonising and marvellous, and it made him scared that it would go away just as quickly as it had happened.

Charlie shifted beside him, then, and came even closer. Sirius' own mouth opened all by itself and Charlie's tongue slipped inside to slide against his. The hand that had rested on his knee journeyed a little higher up, coming to a rest on Sirius' thigh. It felt like a moving patch of fire was sinking through his trousers and into his skin.

Charlie angled his head and the kiss deepened. For the first time Sirius could smell him: bright, confident, adventurous. He filled his senses with that smell, allowed it to stream through him to places that were only empty spaces. All that colour and all those smiles. Sirius fed off his energy, succumbing to the way Charlie was kissing him now, all soft lips and warm tongue and wetness.

And the hand moved again, coming now to cradle his head and Sirius could not remember if he had ever been held like that before. It was tender and firm at the same time. Deliberate. As if Charlie had some plan and knew what he was doing. Because Sirius did not, as fingers tangled in his hair and teeth experimentally grazed his lower lip. He was heady with sensation and more feelings than he, in total, had been able to conjure for the past five years. His blood was waking up and there was a buzzing in his head that spun his thoughts out of order.

When Charlie pushed his tongue into his mouth again, it broke. It cracked. Top to bottom. The wall within, the one that had replaced the Veil without, it simply came crashing down. His chest constricted around a whimper. Long, strong fingers caught any tears that escaped, brushing his cheeks gently, and the kiss deepened until the world was utterly changed.

When they drew apart, Charlie's lips were a deep red and his eyes hooded, and quite frankly he was the most beautiful thing Sirius had ever seen.

"I've wanted to do that since I walked through your door."

Maybe it was the truth. Maybe not. But there was a raspy edge to his voice that had Sirius practically melting. His own voice barely held. "I didn't… I mean…"

Charlie patiently waited for him.

Sirius tried again. "I'm not much to…"

 _I used to be something._

Charlie nodded. His hand came alive again and this time it landed on Sirius' chest. "I get it. You were almost dead." With his thumb, he rubbed a small circle into the shirt and the muscle underneath. "I guess that would make anyone question stuff." He looked up. "Themselves."

His tongue was lead in his mouth.

The hand slid over to the left, to rest over his heart. Charlie's blue eyes caught his and the power in them was overwhelming. "Don't," he said, softly. "Stay with me."

That could mean anything. Sirius was about to ask when Charlie leaned in again and dropped a kiss to his lips. His mouth was still so warm.

His murmur sent a thrill over Sirius' skin.

"I've got this."

The rain was still pounding on the windows by the time the tea tray appeared on the table in front of them and the afternoon light was failing.

Sirius did not bother. Where once – only yesterday – he might have reached out to put his hands on the kettle just to drag some warmth into his body, now that thought did not even cross his mind. Not when Charlie was fingering the top button of his shirt and sending wave after wave of heat coursing through him.

"I don't want to be presumptuous," he said, a most presumptuous grin indeed working its way over his face. His hair gleamed in the humble firelight and his eyes shone.

Sirius could only stare at him. Perhaps it was not real, after all?

But then Charlie was leaning in again, so close that he became a firework of colour and touch and taste, and Sirius finally found the courage to reach for him and bury his fingers in those red locks. And it was real. More real than anything he had ever known.

 **End**


End file.
